Power of the Ancient Ones
by chrysanne
Summary: ABANDONED! An Elven warrior has come to Hogwarts, to teach the descendants of her line, and to save the Earth she loves.
1. A Warrior

A Warrior  
  
Suddenly, the doors to the Great Hall were flung open, and a tall dripping figure in a dark cloak came striding into the foyer. With one hand pushing back the hood, revealing the figure to be a woman, she called out,  
  
"Forgive me, Prof'essor Dumble'dore. It was, a long journey from Dei'leos; my timeframe, was interrupted by...personal matters."  
  
"Of course, my dear."  
  
The entire hall, it seemed, held its breath as everyone stared at the new teacher. Knee-high leather boots were laced tightly around her calves, deerskin leggings clung to her long muscled legs which rippled as she walked. A heavy brown leather belt was buckled loosely as another, this one carrying two sais at the hips and a dagger in the middle, was buckled tightly around her waist. Students and teachers alike, with the exception of Dumbledore, stared at dark brown sleeveless tunic which matched her leggings, its ties going criss-cross past her ample bosom. Leather armbands and gauntlets graced her muscled arms. The entire hall was riveted to the great sword in its sheath, tied to her back.

Her hair was braided over and over, and tied together back away from her face, its purely silver color making her deeply tanned skin appear golden. Her face was breathtaking: fine black brows arched above almond-shaped eyes with long sooty lashes. Her nose was straight and her lips were full and generous; she had a graceful neck marred by tiny scars. Some paused to notice her pointed ears, but her eyes! They were silver, matching her hair, and would darken as the shadows played over her figure.  
  
Upon reaching the teachers table, she untied her cloak and let it slide from her shoulders onto her waiting arm. With a feline grace, she sat down next to Dumbledore and Snape.  
  
"As I was saying, this is your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Sania Reisson, of the Golden Cliffs."  
  
"Hello," said the woman to the stunned hall, with a small smile, "I look forward to teaching you all this year."  
  
Dumbledore clapped his hands, and the feast began.  
  
"How long do you think she'll last?" asked Ginny.  
  
"What a looker!" whistled Ron.  
  
"Did you see her legs?" asked Dean.  
  
"I was looking farther up, mate!" replied Seamus with a grin.  
  
"She is soo beautiful!" sighed Lavender.

* * *

"And how are you, my dear? Was the trip really that long?"  
  
The woman laughed.  
  
"Oh, Prof'essor McGonagall, you have never traveled by sun rays, have you?"  
  
"What? My dear, where are you from?"  
  
"Hellas, Prof'essor McGonagll; the isles of Hellas."  
  
"Hellas?"  
  
"Greece, Minerva, is its proper name," Snape interjected.  
  
Sania narrowed her eyes at him.  
  
"My people prefer the ancient name, Prof'essor Snape, to remind us of when we were young."  
  
"Are you an Elf, then?" Flitwick asked curiously.  
  
"Yes, I am."  
  
"You don't appear to look like a house-elf," sneered Snape.  
  
Her eyes glittering, Sania turned to him again.  
  
She coldly replied, "Because I am not a house-elf, Prof'essor Snape. We share an ancestry, it is true, but we are as similar as you wizards are from non-magic humans."  
  
As if on cue, Dumbledore rose from his seat, and wished the students a good night's sleep for their classes the next day.

* * *

A.N.

Hint: Read Sania's words like a poem, pausing at the punctuation.


	2. Not Like Home

Not Like Home  
  
Sighing, she leaned against the heavy oak door, and glanced around her room. She supposed it to be beautiful, with its tapestries, polished furniture, and paintings, but she missed the constant breeze on Dei'leos, rustling her hair as she slept in the treetops.  
  
Steeling herself, she walked to what she supposed to be her bathroom, and stared. It was lit with sconces, decorated in pale green with a shower, a small bathing 'puddle', and a lavatory. She sighed again, waved her hand toward her hair, which began unbraiding itself, as she began to disrobe. Clad only in a pair of light brown doeskin undergarments, she tossed on a robe made of the same material and started to brush her waist-length hair as a knock sounded from her door. Setting aside her hairbrush, she waved her hand, and turned as the door opened.  
  
Snape stood in her doorway, transfixed by the sight of her hands absentmindedly tying and tightening the sash of her robe. Barefoot, she crossed the room to him.  
  
"Yes, Prof'essor Snape? What is it you wish?"  
  
Swallowing back a response as hot as the flames in her fireplace, Snape cut off his emotions and stared coldly into her eyes.  
  
"Professor Dumbledore asked me to give you these," he snarled, thrusting four heavy volumes into her arms.  
  
Without missing a beat, she balanced the heavy books and graced him with a slight nod.  
  
"Thank you, Prof'essor. These will be of some use. Good night."  
  
And with that, she shut the door firmly, leaving a breathless Snape to find his way back to the dungeons and try to force the vision of her firm breasts in the tight top from his thoughts.  
  
Sighing deeply yet again, the beautiful Elf made her way to her four poster bed, pausing only to place the heavy books on one of the many tables in her rooms. Pushing her robe from her body and her long hair back from her face, she climbed under her bedcovers with reluctance, whispered a soft word in Elvish, and as the lights doused themselves, she fell asleep, unaccustomed to the crackle of a fireplace.

* * *

"Damn that woman!" he stormed to himself, "And damn Albus for passing me over, again! He knows I am more than qualified for that position, and he has the gall to bring a foreigner, a house-elf's cousin at that, for my position. Damn them both!"  
  
Throwing himself into his favorite armchair by the crackling flames, Severus Snape poured the entire contents of Ogden's FireWhiskey down his throat, desperate to cool his ardor for the new teacher and reclaim his sanity.  
  
"Damn her!" he whispered as he sunk into a dreamless stupor with a vision of silver hair his as last conscious thought.

* * *

The next morning, the sixth-year Gryffindors trudged their way to the dungeons for their hated Potions lesson with none other than their hated enemies, House Slytherin.  
  
"Oh, cheer up, Harry, Ron. It can't honestly be any worse than last year," said Hermione, trying to cheer up her two best friends.  
  
Harry grimaced, remembering the loss of Sirius, and his summer with the terrified Dursleys.  
  
As they entered the classroom, Hermione whispered, "After Potions, we have Defense Against the Dark Arts, with the new professor. Use that to get you through this, Harry."  
  
"Ten points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger, for speaking without being spoken to," the bane of their existence had made a silent entrance, and sneered in the trio's direction.  
  
"Today we will be preparing simple Appendage Potions. You will be partnered into pairs. Malfoy..." Harry cringed with the expected partnering with his arch enemy, "...and Goyle.  
  
Harry let out his breath.  
  
"Parkinson, Kerrigan. Weasley, Potter. Granger, Longbottom...." Snape didn't notice his students' astonished stares at his choice of partners. Bringing his attention back to his immobile class, Snape sneered, "Or did I pair you incorrectly? MOVE!"  
  
With a flurry of movement, the entire class scurried to their partners and began their work. Settling in his chair, Snape prepared himself for anything from multiple legs to less than normal eyes. Surprisingly, his class was going well, and he allowed his mind to focus on the new professor.

* * *

"Prof'essor S'nape?"  
  
He shut his eyes as her low voice sent involuntary shivers along his spine. As he gritted his teeth, he turned to her.  
  
"Yes?" he snarled acidly.  
  
She looked unperturbed at his tone, yet his sharp eyes caught the nearly imperceptible squaring of her shoulders.  
  
"I have need of your po'tions skills. Please, come with me, and I will show you."  
  
As she turned and walked down the hall, Snape couldn't help but admire the view, though it killed him to admit it. Realizing they were heading to her private rooms, a small, uncontrollable thrill of excitement raced through his veins.  
  
_/What the hell is wrong with me?/_ thought Snape in the back of his mind.  
  
"This, Prof'essor, is what I need your help with," said Sania, holding up a small, golden-brown seed, almost reverently, in her palm.  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow sardonically.  
  
"Herbology is not my subject, Professor Reisson."  
  
"In private, my name is Sania. This," she held up her palm, not noticing his reaction to the word 'private', "is a seed of a _mathi'rien_ tree, one that that grows to great heights."  
  
"Why do you need me?" he asked, intrigued, crossing his arms nonetheless.  
  
She looked at him, then sighed and waved a hand at her beautiful rooms.  
  
"No doubt, these rooms are quite lovely and pleasing, but for me, they are a prison. Gilded, perhaps, but a prison nonetheless; I have spent my entire existence in the open, in the trees. It takes hundreds of years for _mathi'rien_ to mature to a proper height. I would ask you to brew a po'tion to accel'erate the aging pro'cess."  
  
Nodding his head, Snape answered, "It shouldn't take long, a week or so to perfect it to your requirements."  
  
Pleased at his assistance, Sania beamed at him and gave him a little hug. 


End file.
